I love being out on the ocean. I love the sound of the turquoise water sloshing against our fishing boat. I love the smell of the brine and the soothing rocking motion as we travel over the gentle waves. I have always found it so easy to lean over the railings of the boat with my arms crossed and stare at the colourful fishes swimming in the crystal depths below. It allows me to zone out and forget everything—at least until a dead snapper hits the side of my face.
I instinctively lift my hand to rest on the damp, tender spot on my cheek and snap my head around to find the culprit.
As if I really need to look. There are only three of us on this boat, and old Murphy Dawnday, our skipper, isn’t the prankster type.
My eyes find my friend and fellow fisherman, Finn Lockjaw. He stands over by the full snapper baskets with his hands clutched behind his back, staring up at the sky with a faux innocent expression on his face as though he thinks I won’t see the corner of his mouth twitching as he tries to hold back a laugh.
I bend down and pick up the fish, and when I rise up, I lift back my arm as if to toss back it in his direction.
He catches my movements in the corner of his eyes and quickly ducks, raising his arms to protect his face.
“I’m sorry!” He manages to choke out through his laughter. “I didn’t think it would actually hit you.”
“I don’t doubt that. You can’t aim to save your life.” I tell him. I feign throwing the fish, and he flinches again, making me chuckle. Instead, I stroll over and place the snapper back in one of the baskets. “You shouldn’t be throwing around the cargo. We’ve been working until before dawn catching these.”
“Yeah, but look how much we’ve caught.” He gestures around the boat where baskets filled with snappers litter the deck. That’s not including the net filled with snappers hanging above us. “We’ve got enough fish to feed all the islands for a month, and probably the mainland too!”.
He’s right. A shift in the ocean’s current has brought large schools of snappers into our waters, and today we were lucky enough to catch copious amounts of them.
“The miners are going to be happy with this lot,” Finn says, suddenly serious. “Apparently, they are having to work overtime down there. They need extra food supplies.”
“How come?” I frown. This is news to me.
“Kai told me that they found an air pocket that looks like it’s filled with new minerals. They want to excavate them as soon as possible.” Finn shrugs, running his fingers through his wind-ruffled, sandy blonde hair. It’s very unusual for a Curian to have such fair hair, which results in Finn attracting a lot of attention, especially from the island ladies. Kai reckons his exotic looks would be an even bigger hit with the mainland women, but Finn has never had an interest in leaving the Curio Isles other than to fish out on the ocean. My own hair used to be almost black, but years of sun exposure have bleached it a dark brown.
“I doubt there’s much truth in it if it’s something Kai heard. You know how gullible he is. Someone was probably pulling his leg. He believed that the islands were being invaded by giant spider crabs last week,” I laugh.
Finn shakes his head. “He said that Kano told him about it.”
My grin falters. Kano Blackrain is the quarrymaster. If the news came from him, then it must be accurate. But then why haven’t I heard about it before now? Island news usually spreads quicker than fire. Maybe I just haven’t been paying enough attention lately.
“I don’t think I’d like to be a quarry worker,” Finn says suddenly, pulling me away from my thoughts.
“Like you have a choice. You can’t hold your breath long enough to get down there.”
“You’re one to talk! You didn’t last as long as me underwater,” he retorts.
“Only because you elbowed me in the ribs during the test! I could have beat you hands down otherwise,” I laugh.
Us Curians have the ability to hold our breath for an unnatural amount of time. Some islanders say that it is an ability that was bestowed upon our ancestors by the spirits. Others say that it is something that our bodies acquired itself as a result of many generations of divers. Unfortunately, though, some of us can hold our breath longer than others. Finn and I didn’t make the cut, which is why we are using our skills above the water to contribute to the Isles.
“Do you think we will be doing this for the rest of our lives?” I ask, gesturing around the boat.
Finn shrugs. “What else would we do?”
He’s right. The lifestyle on the island never changes. You find your trade at an early age and commit to it unless an injury or sickness no longer allows you to do so. I can’t decide if I find the concept comforting or intimidating.
“Nah,” Finn says abruptly, “I don’t think you’ll be fishing the rest of your life. I reckon you’ll take over as brawlmaster once Harper retires.
I chuckle, lightly shoving his shoulder. “That won’t happen. You wouldn’t last five minutes out on this ocean without me. I’ll just have to stay put.”
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Although fishing is my primary skill, and it pays well enough, I still needed to find a way to bring in additional income. My father died whilst fishing out on the ocean during a tropical storm before I was born, and so my mother has struggled to make ends meet with just her income as a tailor. That’s why I took up brawling a few evenings every week. It allows us to live comfortably on Scale Shell Island, which is one of the more prestigious residential islands in the Curio Isles. The houses are more sturdy and built from stone rather than the wooden abodes that make up most of the other islands. Before I started brawling, we lived in a small wooden shack on Ruddy Island that was pretty cosy until it was destroyed by a typhoon.
Once Finn and I arrive back at Thornsea Island, the largest of the islands and where most of the trading happens, we quickly help the skipper to unload the snappers into the storage yard and then head towards The Salty Sponge tavern, where the brawls are held.
“Finn! Rina!”
We both turn as our friend, Kai Tross, sloppily sprints up the main street to meet us. His short black hair is sticking up in places, which makes me think he’s just rolled out of bed.
“Kai, I wasn’t expecting you back from the mainland so soon,” Finn says as he clasps his friend’s shoulder in the customary Curian greeting.
Kai returns the gesture, still panting, and ruffles the hair at the top of my head with his free hand. “It was a short trip, so we got back early this morning. The trademaster has given us a few days off, so I’m enjoying it while I can,” he says jovially. “Are you headed to the tavern?”
“Yeah,” Finn replies. “Rina is brawling tonight. Are you going to join us?”
“Of course. I was actually heading there myself when I spotted you two.” He stands between us and lazily drapes his arms to rest on our shoulders. “Sunny is working the bar tonight, and we have a lot of catching up to do, if you get my meaning.” He turns his head towards me so that I can catch his wink.
I roll my eyes. Kai is a ladies' man, and Sunny Moore is his latest interest.
“Hey! look over there!” Finn shouts, startling me.
I turn to look in the direction he is pointing and spot a dark shape emerging from the clouds on the horizon.
At first glance, I think it’s an albatross, but the movements are too smooth, and the shape is too big. Not to mention it’s growing bigger every second.
“It’s an airship!” Kai exclaims.
I focus my eyes and notice that he’s right. I can make out the bow of the ship and the large sails that have started to materialise. Feelings of unease and envy start to swirl in my stomach.
It’s rare for airships to fly over the islands. I have only seen them twice in my lifetime. The last time I saw one was four years ago, and it had appeared to be a freight ship. This one is clearly a warship based on its size and majesty. From a distance, the airship looks the same as a standard marine ship, but when looking closely, you can see that the bottom of the ship is flattened, housing four large propellers. Kai told me once that the propellors are linked to an engine and a series of cogs and gears that cause them to spin fast enough for flight, but I don’t understand enough about mechanics to comprehend what it must look like or how it works.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“I wonder which side it belongs to.” Finn ponders.
A shudder runs down my spine. I know he’s referring to the war between Linaria and Vardra. Sometimes the traders from the mainland stop by the tavern and tell stories of the conflict happening around the world, but those stories started giving me nightmares, so I stopped listening.
The ship has now left the cloud behind and is soaring towards us at a rapid pace. As it draws closer, I notice that the sails are a distinct colour, deep amethyst purple with an accent mix between burnt orange and dark rust. Vardra’s colours.
“It’s a Vardran ship,” I tell the lads. “Do you think it’s going to stop here?”
My unease magnifies. Throughout my life, I have been told to remain objective in the war; it doesn’t involve us. However, the trader’s stories had depicted the Vardran soldiers as being the cruelest and most ruthless of the two nations.
“No,” Finn reassures me with a smile and places a hand on my shoulder, “it’s moving too quickly. They would’ve started slowing down by now if they were planning on landing here.”
“Yeah,” Kai agrees, “they seem to be just passing over. There’s nothing to be worried about. Let’s carry on walking.”
As the two men continue strolling towards the tavern, I reluctantly shuffle behind them. We keep our eyes fixed on the ship; then, once we reach the wooden doors of The Salty Sponge, we wait silently until the ship has disappeared out of sight before heading inside.
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While the outside of the tavern may appear small, the inside is spacious and airy. The bar is wide, and scattered around the room are enough tables and chairs to seat a full party of quarry miners at the end of the day shift. The tavern is decorated in a traditional nautical theme that compliments the culture of our islands. Fishing nets and scraps of sailcloth hang from the walls, and many old ship lanterns cast a warm glow around the room.
As the three of us enter, I immediately spot Sunny leaning on the bar, her head supported by her left hand as she inspects the fingernails on her right.
She is alerted to our presence by the ringing of the old ship bell above the door. Her eyes instantly narrow as they land on mine, and a crease appears in the middle of her brow.
For some reason, Sunny has never liked me, and I have never cared enough to ask why. I know she isn’t competing with me over attractiveness as some females around here tend to do. Sunny is the personification of perfect, with her warm, light brown curled hair, large doe-like brown eyes, and clear golden skin. A far contrast from my wild, windswept dark hair and my toughened battle-scarred skin from years of working on the fishing boat and brawling at the tavern. The brown breeches and white long-sleeved cotton shirt I wear look masculine in comparison to the flattering red dress that Sunny wears.
Sunny has inherited her good looks from her mother, Nadia Moore, who owns the tavern. Except, where Nadia is kind, welcoming, and compassionate, Sunny can be seen as conceited, lazy, and aloof.
Her frown disappears when she notices Kai, and she offers him a sultry smile as he saunters over to the bar.
Finn and I roll our eyes at each other and continue across the tavern to reach the back room.
The spacious, windowless room situated at the back of the tavern was once used as storage space for the barrels of ale and other beverages. However, since Nadia had the tavern’s cellar constructed eight years ago, it is now used as a venue for the brawl club, hosted by the brawlmaster, Harper Waterax.
A fight is already taking place when we enter. I recognise the two burly men as quarry miners but know neither of them by name and have only seen one of them brawling here before. Pressed against each of the walls surrounding the brawl ring are a number of benches where drunken bettors sit to observe the fights. Tonight, there’s a decent crowd, though none of them look particularly thrilled. Things mustn’t be going their way tonight.
At an elevated writing desk positioned in the far corner of the room sits Harper. He is a scrawny man with greasy, lank, dull brown hair and an unkempt beard to match.
He is currently busy writing furiously in the thick leather-bound logbook on the desk in front of him and doesn’t lift his head as I approach. As the brawl master, he is supposed to carefully oversee each brawl to ensure that the fighters follow the set rules, but in recent years, Harper has started to care less about how the fights are won.
“Sign me up for the next fight. I have to be up early in the morning,” I tell Harper.
“Armed or unarmed?” he asks, still without looking at me.
“Unarmed,” I say. I fight better with a weapon, but the unarmed brawls pay more.
He flips a page of his book and quickly scribbles something down. “You’re fighting Wilbur.”
“Wilbur is drunk,” I say bluntly. I can make that claim confidently without bothering to check the fact. Wilbur has been drunk since his wife passed away and he retired from his job as a sea sponge farmer.
“Then go easy on him,” snarls Harper. His washed-out yellow eyes flick briefly to mine. I always find them unnerving. “Wilbur, you’re up next!” His booming voice carries across the room.
Wilbur, who is sprawled out on his back across a bench, gurgles something illegible and raises his mug in acknowledgement.
“Take a seat.” Harper gestures to the benches.
I sit in the empty spot next to Finn and slouch forward with my elbows resting on my knees and my chin in my palms. Although my gaze is on the fight, I’m not paying attention to what is happening. I’m still dwelling on the ship that flew over and the unease that still sits deep in my stomach.
The miner that I have seen brawling before wins the fight, and so I stroll into the ring as his unconscious opponent is being carried out. I have to wait as Wilbur finishes his ale, struggles to rise from the bench, and staggers over to face me.
Harper has barely rung the bell when Wilbur takes a wild swing at me. I sidestep to avoid his fist and nimbly start to dance around him to dodge any more attacks. He may fight sloppily in his intoxicated state, but he can hit hard. He stands at least a foot taller than me and has twice the body mass, although, since he started drinking, his muscles have turned to fat and his movements have slowed.
I can easily fight back and have this brawl won in minutes, but I don’t. I don’t feel that it’s fair fighting someone in this state, so I usually just go on the defensive and wait until Wilbur tires himself into submission.
After a few minutes of dodging his attacks, he becomes enraged, slurring expletives as his round face flushes to a crimson hue. His pace suddenly quickens, catching me off guard. He manages to glance a blow off the left side of my face with enough power that my ears start ringing. I stagger, barely avoiding another fist to my face.
That’s it; I’m done being the nice guy. My right hook connects with the middle of Wilbur’s forehead, knocking him onto his back. The guilt starts to rise, but I smother it. I need this money just as much as he does. No one forced him to fight anyway.
Still on his back, Wilbur’s curses get louder, but he makes no attempt to get back up. Harper rings the bell to signal the end of the fight.
Leaving the brawl club’s bouncers to pick Wilbur up off the floor, I head back over to Harper to collect my winnings.
“How much was that worth?” I say.
“Seventy gold.” He tosses me a thin fabric pouch containing the coins.
“Is that all?” I usually earn more than one hundred gold for an unarmed brawl.
“You were fighting Wilbur,” he says pointedly.
“He bruised my face,” I argue.
“It’s an improvement on how you looked before.” Harper snickers.
I shake my head and storm back to the benches. There’s no point in arguing with people like Harper.
“That was the dullest brawl I’ve ever seen,” says Finn. he is sloughing back with his eyes half-closed.
“I was fighting Wilbur,” I growl.
“I know.” He raises his hand to prod the bruise still forming on my face. I slap it away angrily.
“We need to go. The skipper wants us out on the ocean by dawn. If you’re not out of bed in time, I’m telling him to leave you behind.”
“I think I prefer you when you’re snarky.” I hear Finn chuckle from where he follows behind me.
I don’t pay any attention to Sunny and Kai as I cross through to leave the tavern. My mood is bad enough already. Something Finn picks up on, as he doesn’t make any attempt to talk as we take the ferry back to Scale Shell Island.
Even though it’s late when I return home, the lamps are still lit, and the smell of freshly baked bread lingers.
My mother, Mira Wavegrey, sits in her usual chair in the corner of the room, embroidering a flower pattern onto a long skirt. Despite us having the same dark hair and deep indigo eyes, people say that I resemble my father more than I do her. She has unnaturally pale skin for a Curian, and her figure is slender and fragile. Her facial features are soft and delicate, except for her eyes, which are always hardened. I have always believed her to be far prettier than I am and would be even more beautiful if she smiled. My mother never smiles, though she has always been caring and warm towards me. I’ve been told that she smiled often when my father was still alive, and when I was younger, I used to hope that one day I could make her as happy as he did.
She lifts her head as I enter, and her eyes immediately flick to the swelling on the left side of my face. A slight disapproving crease appears on her brow. She has always disapproved of me brawling.
She sets down the skirt as I hold out the pouch of coins to her and lean down to kiss her on the cheek.
“I have left out some soup and bread for you in the kitchen,” She says, patting my arm affectionately. “I will go and get the healing salve for your face.”
“We are sailing out early in the morning,” I tell her. “The skipper says we’ll be gone for three days at least. I’ll get Kai to check in on you when he can.”
“I’ll be fine. Just take care of yourself out there. I can’t bear to lose you too.” She rises from the chair and hugs me close, her hand stroking the hair at the back of my head.
“Please don’t worry, Mam. The skipper is the best sailor on the isles, and the weather is looking to be good,” I reassure her.
“I will always worry about you, baby girl. Now go eat your soup.” She ushers me away.
I enter the small, neat kitchen and light the stove to heat the soup in the iron saucepan. As I wait, I glance around.
The kitchen is my favourite place in the house; It’s filled with everything that defines my mother. In the back corner sit large rolls of cloth and fabrics in vast ranges of colours. When I was younger, I loved pulling out each one individually and examining them. If I was lucky, my mother would allow me to pick my favourite for her to make a tiny dress for my straw doll. The walls of the kitchen are lined with shelves of glass bottles and tinctures, and bags of dried herbs hang from hooks. When she isn’t making clothes, my mother spends her time brewing and mixing home remedies.
I sigh, the warmth and homeliness of the room start to loosen the knot that I’ve felt in the pit of my stomach since the ship passed by.